


chasing cars

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon), sharpshooting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Motorcycles, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 15:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharpshooting/pseuds/sharpshooting
Summary: When Lance loses his ride, Shiro does his friend a favor and drives him home. Now, if only Lance would look a littlelessgood in Shiro's jacket, that'd be fantastic, thanks."I'm the granny representative at the motorcycle club," was what he said instead, because Lance just had thiswayabout him that loosened all of Shiro's filters. "I can't go fast. They'll take my creds."Lance made a guttural, outraged noise in the back of his throat, one Shiro could barely hear over the roar of the engine, and squeezed the bottom of Shiro's ribcage in protest. "Oh, comeon," he groused, but there was a ripple of laughter through the words, and Shiro found himself grinning dumbly at the road ahead of them.





	chasing cars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orionthegay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orionthegay/gifts).



> HAPPPPPY SPRIIIING ORIONTHEGAY
> 
> you asked for shance with white jasmine and i have done my best to deliver. hope you enjoy!

"This is like, _literally_ the lamest motorcycle ride ever, dude."

Shiro snorted and maintained his easy twenty miles-per-hour pace. "What," he called over the sputter of the engine, "and you'd rather be roadkill?"

Lance didn't have a helmet or a jacket, so Shiro had lent him the jacket and kept the helmet—the way the air hit his chest felt just _strange_ through his henley.

He wouldn't have taken Lance home on his motorcycle at all if he'd had a choice, but it was either this, or making Lance find his way back alone on the ten P.M. bus.

This way was _less_ likely to end with Lance as roadkill, all told.

"I'm not gonna _fall off_ , c'moooon," Lance whined against his back, his breath puffing hot through Shiro's layers of clothing. "You drive like a _granny_."

But granny-driving or no, Lance's arms were still circled tight around Shiro's middle and his cheek was still rested between Shiro's shoulder blades, the press of his body warm and robust and comforting, protective and trusting both.

If Shiro were a suspicious man, he might think Lance was clinging more than he really needed to.

And while Shiro was, indeed, a somewhat suspicious man, he carefully didn't mention his observations in interest of not bringing Lance's attention to it and risking him pulling away.

"I'm the granny representative at the motorcycle club," was what he said instead, because Lance just had this _way_ about him that loosened all of Shiro's filters. "I can't go fast. They'll take my creds."

Lance made a guttural, outraged noise in the back of his throat, one Shiro could barely hear over the roar of the engine, and squeezed the bottom of his ribcage in protest. "Oh, come _on,_ " he groused, but there was a ripple of laughter through the words, and Shiro found himself grinning dumbly at the road ahead of them.

It was a quiet trip—the arcade they'd just left was a bank of scrubby hills away from Lance's house, and all Shiro really had to do was make sure the bike didn't speed on the descent.

It left him with too much time to think, too much attention to spare for the press of Lance's biceps and the tight, firm feeling of Lance's thighs as they bushed his.

It was times like these when Shiro was forced to think about how Lance wasn't nearly as scrawny as he looked, that he could probably pick Shiro up if he put his mind to it, and that was a much more... _interesting_ thought than it should have been.

Shiro had never really seen the appeal in it—had never really seen the appeal of romance or sex in general—but Lance was vivid and talkative and wore his heart on his sleeve, pushing and pushing and _pushing_ at walls Shiro wasn't aware he'd even had.

It was a much more pleasant experience than Shiro would have expected.

The neighborhood came up in a block of walled backyards and boxy houses, the way most neighborhoods around here sprung into existence, and Shiro did his best to putter _quietly_ in the direction of Lance's house. It wasn't _quite_ late enough for noise complaints, but that wouldn't make it any less rude to wake the whole place up.

"Well, this is my stop," Lance said—rather unnecessarily, given that Shiro had been here a few times already and the banks of jasmine that marked Lance's front porch were... _fragrantly_ unforgettable.

(It wasn't that Shiro especially liked or disliked jasmine, but someone in Lance's family must've _adored_ it for there to be so much of it.)

Pulling up to Lance's walkway was... a bit disappointing, Shiro couldn't deny.

Lance hesitated a moment, breathing against Shiro's back as the putter of the engine faded out of the darkened streets, then pushed away like he was pulling velcro. His shoes scraped against the cement, and Shiro followed before he could lose his nerve.

"Thanks for the ride, Shiro," Lance mumbled as he fumbled open the gate latch.

"You really think I'd leave you to the, ah, 'midnight crazies and serial killers'?" Shiro mumbled back, amused. Lance's minor fit when he found out his sister couldn't pick him up was as _eloquent_ as it was loud.

Lance made a _pbbbth_ noise. "Guess not." He then elbowed Shiro with a grin. "What kind of granny representative would you be then?"

"A terrible one," Shiro replied with a sage nod. They were at Lance's door, and beyond it, he could hear the hum of a television, the clink of dishes—probably cleanup from dinner. "They might have strung me up by the ankles for my crimes. I'd be treated to a lecture for sure."

He really didn't want to say goodbye.

But then, he never did.

Lance flashed Shiro a look so soft his pulse faltered, and then it was gone like smoke, leaving Shiro to wonder if it had only been his imagination. The replacement smirk was almost as bad. "Good thing you drove me home then."

Lance was still wearing his leather jacket, Shiro's mind pointed out inanely. It fit him better than expected—a size or three too big, but not so big he was swimming in it.

It was... nice.

So nice that Shiro was almost tempted to tell Lance he could keep it, no matter that it had taken Shiro about three paychecks to save up for it.

"So I should probably, uh, go inside."

Shiro's cheeks itched like they were smiling. "Yeah, probably."

Lance made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat that was almost inaudible, then fumbled off the jacket.

Shiro's eyes stuck themselves to the round of Lance's shoulder, the shadows that played with Lance's collarbone, the tight twist of Lance's mouth, and his mouth went dry.

The jacket was stuffed into his numb hands, and Lance glanced up into his eyes with a half-shuttered look that had all the air rushing out of Shiro's lungs, just like that.

Shiro couldn't tell you who'd moved first, but Lance's lips were so, so soft under his, the ( _adorable_ ) startled squeak belying the gentle grip Lance had on the back of Shiro's neck. It set Shiro's insides humming, wiped his mind pleasantly blank, narrowed his world down to the slick slide and stuttering breath and gentle musk.

Lance pulled back slowly, slow enough that their mouths made a little _click_ when they parted, and Shiro left his eyes closed for a moment, basking in the glow he'd been left with.

The air felt sharper in the wake of the kiss—a chilly breeze that brought the smell of dryer steam mingling with the jasmine—trailing icy fingers over Shiro's tingling face and burning airways, unable to touch the bubble of warm enchantment that had swelled in his chest.

He let his eyes drift open, let the chirping crickets and yellowed porch light fade back in, and his heart _snagged_ on the look on Lance's face.

It was only there for a flash, a flicker too quick to name, and then Lance flinched.

Shiro watched him flush maroon with bemused interest.

"So! Anyway!" Lance spluttered, jerking out of Shiro's space. "G'night-thanks-for-the-ride-see-you-tomorrow—"

It took him three whole tries to get his key in the lock, and he didn't so much as glance back at Shiro as he flung himself through the door.

"Ah," said Shiro before he could lose him.

Lance glanced back, flustered almost to the point of timidity, and Shiro raised a hand in farewell, his face stretched in a smile that just wouldn't quit.

"Goodnight."

Lance pressed his lips together, going redder against all logic, then glanced away and gave a stilted little nod.

Shiro waited until the door had clicked shut, then covered his own mouth and swallowed down the overwhelming, effervescent _joy_ that seemed to have conquered his insides when he wasn't looking.

_'See you tomorrow,' huh?_

Shiro couldn't wait.


End file.
